


A Court of Magic and Roses

by greenJeanKirstein



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Magic, Blue is a seer/amplifier, Declan is a socialite, F/F, F/M, Flirting, Gen, Jiang is an artist, M/M, Matthew is a priest in training, Minor Violence, Richard Gansey is a crown prince, Ronan is the Captain of the Guard, Tags are updated as we go
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-07
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-13 00:00:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7129991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenJeanKirstein/pseuds/greenJeanKirstein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The kingdom of Glendyr is thriving, the people feel safe and the crops grow quicker than ever before. The life is almost idyllic - there is just one problem. More and more magic users are caught every day, both those who pretend and those, who can harm others with their gifts. The court of justice must condemn such acts and fairly issue a punishment.</p><p>Richard Gansey III is tired of it all. He is tired of punishing his own people for using magic that does no harm. In his opinion, magic should learn to benefit the people who use it and those, who cannot use the magic themselves. He just wants to live his life, wants to spend time with his entourage, wants to research past rulers the scholars have nearly forgotten.</p><p>His priorities drastically change when a dragon moves into the kingdom, terrorising the peasants, and when an anonymous letter suggests there are more magic wielders in his court than he knows, the crown prince must choose if he puts the safety of his people on the pedestal or if he trusts those who are close to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Introduction of Heroes

**Author's Note:**

> Every linebreak suggests either a jump in time or a jump of the character whose point of view the story is told in. The first chapter is almost a prologue, easing us all into the kingdom of Glendyr, slowly introducing us a few key characters.
> 
> In the italics we'll have the chance to read a diary entry by a character. Some chapters will contain one entry, some may contain more than one.

Blue Sargent had been given a name that was stranger than her destiny, and for once in her life, she was glad that her future prevented her from having to do the most boring tasks around the house. While her cousins cooked and her aunts prepared teas that were never meant to be drunk, she simply stood by her mother’s side and let her energy be channeled by the Gods who had things to say to the mortals.

 

She did not have to wake up early to pay the tax collectors either, even if her presence cost the clients a sovereign more. Sometimes, when she woke to the sound of horses riding to their humble cottage, she fell asleep before a gloved hand could knock on the door.

 

Today it was different. The voices of her mother and aunts arguing with the tax collectors woke her, and she snuck downstairs just in time to hear that the taxes had been raised again.

 

“They raised the taxes last summer!” Calla, one of Blue’s aunts hissed and Blue saw the men cower, trying to hide from Calla’s wrath.

 

“We know, madame, but it is the rulers who raise the taxes, not us.”

 

Maura Sargent crossed her arms and quietly handed over more coin. The tax collectors thanked her and then left, far quicker than they had arrived.

 

“What was that about?” Blue stepped into the kitchen, scooping the last of porridge out from the pot and poured a few handfuls of berries onto her breakfast.

 

Orla was the first to answer, smiling to Blue and ruffling her hair as she passed her.

 

“Nothing. The royalty is just being a bunch of selfish money hoarders again. Don’t worry about it.”

 

Blue frowned, but kept eating her porridge. She did not understand how the royalty could so easily do as they pleased just because they were blessed by being born into the right lineage.

* * *

Richard Gansey III had been blessed enough to be born into royalty, but being the crown prince of a thriving kingdom did not come without its duties. The hours he spent in court, trying to charm as many officials from lands near and far, were tiring and the laws he had to know better than his own reflection weighed on his shoulders more than ever.

 

He was not a man of the law, yet when it came to rules and regulations, Richard Gansey III did exactly as told and punished whoever crossed the lines lawfully and with more just rulers before him had.

 

“Another day, another fool who gambles with magic.” Ronan Lynch, Captain of the Guard mumbled as he escorted the prince back to his chambers. “Do they not hear of punishments given to their brothers and sisters?”

 

The prince held up his hand with a sigh. “Enough of this, Ronan. I’ve had to listen to the court for hours. I do not need you nagging like Mother Therese.” Before the Captain could apologise, Gansey waved his hand again, stopping at the door to his chambers.

 

“Thank you, Ronan. You’re dismissed. You may go.”

 

He pushed open the door and his chambers greeted him with their comforting cream coloured walls, plush chairs, colourful vases with white and yellow roses. Gansey hid his face into the nearest bouquet of flowers and inhaled. The sweet scent cleansed his thoughts and after a while he felt like he could breathe well again.

 

He sat at his table and pulled a leather bound book closer, dipped his favourite quill into lavish purple ink and began to write.

 

_Dear journal,_

 

_Today has been more tiring than the days of last week together. Today we oversaw a ruling of another witch, she being only the age of my sister. She was convicted of having sent illness to those who upset her, and as punishment, the thumb of her right hand was cut off. If she lives through the recovery without any complications, she must also serve her punishment of a hundred days in jail._

 

_Tell me, dear diary, as I do not know, and I turn to you, as you are wiser than I will ever be, tell me, why do these people commit such heinous crimes? Are the punishments not cruel enough? Does magic manifest itself if you keep it under lock and key? Does it wish to conquer, to take, to ruin?_

_Yours truly and forever,_  
_Richard Gansey III,_  
_The Crown Prince of Glendyr_

* * *

Even though he had dismissed the Captain of the Guard for the day, Gansey saw Ronan during the dinner. Ronan always sat with Gansey, always stood close to his best friend and Gansey appreciated it much more than he dared to admit.

 

“How’s the bird?” Gansey asked with a smile, sitting down next to Ronan. He had not yet seen the raven anywhere, but knew that after Ronan had rescued it from the dogs, the bird stuck by his side as much as possible.

 

Ronan shrugged, stabbing some vegetables and brought them to his mouth, eating them like he had not had food since breakfast. Knowing Ronan and his difficult temper, Gansey supposed that maybe he had not had any, perhaps Ronan had spent his lunch with his bird. Not waiting for an answer right away, Gansey raised a goblet to his mouth and sipped the wine, wetting his throat before feasting on the meats and vegetables the cooks had specially served him.

 

They spoke after their plates were gleaming just like the crown on Gansey’s head or the dagger on Ronan’s hip.

 

“Chain-Saw is fine. She is out flying. Brought me this letter earlier - Matthew has been named as the next Brother in training.” Ronan said, smiling as he smoothed a little letter he had received in the morning.

 

Gansey smiled too, gesturing to the piece of parchment. “That is good. Your brother was always a man of faith. Much like you and Declan.”

 

At the mention of his other brother, Ronan’s smile dropped. Him and his older brother Declan had not gotten along ever since Declan inherited most of their fortune and decided that the life of a socialite was more preferred than the life of a scholar. Gansey though that Ronan was simply upset at how unfairly his family home had been taken from him. Not everything could be just. Gansey knew that well.

 

“Are there any errands you’d like to run tomorrow, your highness?” Ronan using Gansey's status against him was not unlike him and Gansey knew he should not have brought up Declan, but as the damage was done, it was time to fix what could be fixed.

 

He eyed his reflection in the plate and nodded, watching as the reflection did the same, bending and bowing to the real prince.

 

“A ride to the town would surely do us both some good. Perhaps we can go by the church and see your brother? I have a feeling the priest is awaiting my coin and my confession.”

 

Ronan nodded, content with the answer, but the rest of the dinner passed without a word. It was not because they had nothing to speak about; Gansey felt like his head needed some rest and he left soon, letting Ronan stare into the distance as he battled with his own thoughts.

 

Gansey retired to his room, taking off his crown as soon as he locked his door. Sometimes the crown felt like it weighed more than the weight of the stone walls that surrounded him. The crown was put onto a purple pillow on a pillar and Gansey slowly undressed, shivering slightly from the cold breeze. There was no time to waste; sleep was another duty he had as he had to be presentable in the mornings.

 

Even if he closed his eyes after falling onto the bed, sleep did not greet him until the dawn spread over the darkness.

 


	2. The Hard Life of Socialites and Royalty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We glimpse into the daily life of Earl Lynch, who commissions a portrait of himself; go shopping with the Prince, who is after the most delicious treats money can buy; and visit the church with our favourite Captain of the Guard where we pray along with the crown prince. In the end of the chapter we meet Noah Czerny, the happy-go-lucky gardener who makes sure the most beautiful roses greet Gansey when he returns to his rooms.

Being a socialite was so much more work than everyone assumed. You had to be presentable at all times and your tongue had to be slicker than any oils the maids used to pamper your skin. You had to talk to men and women alike, had to remember their faces and their names for more than a night; you had to make sure to sound believable when you assured them you would be seeing them soon enough.

 

With an exasperated sigh, Declan Lynch fell onto his velvety black chaise lounge, a hand over his eyes. It had been a truly boring evening, followed by a dreadful night, and as the sun rose, his need for company that would please him was almost unbearable. At least his seating was comfortable and rubbed against his skin in a pleasant way.

 

“You called, master Lynch?” a petite woman asked from the door, looking more awake than Declan could ever imagine a woman her age to be.

 

Declan hummed, nodding slightly. “Make me a cup of tea and breakfast, will you, my dear, and send word to the painter I commissioned. If I am awake, we might as well start with it already.”

 

The woman bowed slightly and rushed off, leaving Declan to muse over how he had managed to charm the most boring woman out of the bunch to warm his bed. She had been pretty, there was no denying that; her hair so fair against her dark skin, her eyes the shade of burning coals, but her head was as empty as Declan’s hands had been while he held her bosoms in his hands.

 

Truly a waste of his time, the woman had been. He hoped the painter would make his day at least a small bit better.

 

* * *

 

 

Declan had not expected a man with dark hair and even darker eyes to greet him in his living room after he had barely gotten ready for the day. Declan could not tell much about the man’s body as a jacket and loose pants left everything to the imagination; yet he was tall and had a nice face, and Declan thought that he wouldn’t mind seeing that face the first thing in the morning. He hoped the painter liked his face and his body as well. Sure as always, Declan looked aristocratic in his dark slacks and white blouse, but he had not yet put on his father’s army jacket, in which he wanted to be made eternal. For a minute he wondered if he should ask to be painted nude, but then decided against it.

 

“Ah, my apologies. Have you waited for long?” Declan smiled, showing enough teeth to be charming, raising the corners of his lips just the slightest. His eyes passed over the man, taking notice of his brown slacks and his white shirt. The man’s arms looked strong and Declan wondered what they felt like around his neck.

 

The man shook his head, then continued setting up his canvas and his paints and brushes.

 

“How do you wish to be painted?” He asked and Declan’s smile waivered, for he could not believe that such a smooth voice could belong to such an unnoticeable man.

 

“How I wish to be painted?” Declan repeated the question and then walked to where his father’s jacket stood. “In this, if you may. Do try to bring out the beauty and charm I have been so kindly given.”

 

The painter said nothing as he mixed his paints and got to work, pressing Declan onto the canvas one brushstroke at a time, bringing out both the beauty and the dark Declan had in him. He painted the room around them as well, letting the morning light that rushed into the room through wide windows caress the dark green walls and the expensive wooden floors. With his smallest brushes he added the details - the mosaic on the floors, the swirls of artichoke green vines and blooming daffodils on the walls, the dark stubble that covered Declan’s jawline in a manner that the women loved the most. Stroke by stroke the room, the expensive furniture and Declan embedded themselves onto the canvas.

 

After two hours, Declan called for a break and had his servant serve them tea with freshly baked goods. He sat on his most expensive chair, a chair made out of oak, cushioned with purple velvet cushions and decorated with golden mouline thread, and tried to talk to the painter, using all the charms he knew worked on men that had loved the company of men for more than Declan’s age and on men that had only seen men as comrades.

 

“So tell me, Jiang, what does a talented beautiful young painter like yourself do in a small town like this? Should you not belong to the prince’s court? Or the princess’?”

 

The painter silently sipped his tea, apparently not enjoying the pieces of dried fruit in the tea enough to comment on it, then simply hummed as an answer. Declan, to put it mildly, was not happy with the answer.

 

“Have you really not shown anyone of a higher standing your works? Surely one or mo-”

 

This time the painter spoke, looking up through his dark lashes, his voice almost a soft wind that caressed Declan’s ears.

 

“May we continue with the painting? The first layer of paint is dry by now, and if I remember correctly, you wanted the painting to be ready by your next party that is in a week.”

 

He got up and Declan followed. Even though he had wanted to talk to the man more, commands given with such a voice were to be followed.

 

* * *

 

“Ronan, are you sure you need this many rolls of bread?” Gansey asked, but he was more amused than annoyed with Ronan’s choices. He knew that more than not, Ronan took the rolls of bread to his younger brother who fed the bread he did not eat himself to the animals he cared for.

 

Ronan shrugged, counting the coin into the baker’s awaiting hand. “If he needs more, we will come by again.”

 

Gansey’s mouth twitched and he wanted to say something, but the smell of roses blinded him and pressed a delicate hand against his mouth. He turned around, searching for roses or for a carriage that brought the fresh flowers to the market, but the only person who was closer than 15 feet was a bonde man, dressed in simple clothes. Gansey supposed that his senses had played a trick on him because he saw no roses in the man’s hand. Yet the smell lingered in his nose, reaching to his brain and soothing it, pressing soft kisses in its wake that left Gansey waiting for more.

 

“Mind if I look around?” Gansey whispered to Ronan, not really wanting to stay by Ronan’s side as he read every single copper he gave to the baker. Ronan’s grunt was a good enough answer and so Gansey left his side, venturing deeper into the market. He let his sense of smell guide him around, hoping to find the flowers, but instead found himself in front of a little stall, looking at the candies.

 

The man behind the stall bowed slightly and smiled. “Would you like to try one, your highness?” He offered, showing Gansey the different coloured candies and mints. There were dozens of them, packaged in little brown paper bags, beautiful handmade colourful tags attached to the baggies; a few sweets meant for sampling standing in front of every row, offering the customers a taste of what they were buying. Gansey looked at the white, green and blue mints, then inspected the bigger candies with curious eyes. There were so many of them to choose from; from the lightest of yellows, the colour so soft to the eye that it reminded Gansey of eggshells at first, to different pastel colours that made Gansey feel like he was observing something more delicately made than simple candies; to round blobs of sugar that were the shade of the pinkest roses that grew in the Royal Gardens which the gardeners left into the crown prince’s room, arranging them in the vases; the flowers that Gansey hid his face into every time his headaches smothered him from inside out.

 

“May I?” Gansey picked up a rose coloured candy and then raised it to his lips. The first layer of sugar melted on his tongue almost instantly and the sweet taste of dried sugar flowers assaulted all his senses.

 

The blond man smiled, tilting his head. “You like the taste, I take it?”

 

Gansey’s tongue was still being hugged by the sweet taste of sugar flowers, and later honey. He more than liked the taste. He loved it, as it reminded him of days that had passed a long time ago, of a time that was far more simpler.

 

The man kept smiling and waited for Gansey to speak. Gansey waited until the sugary taste had melted into his mouth and then nodded. “I did rather enjoy it. Would it be possible for me to buy a few bags of them?”

 

The man let Gansey pick the bags of candies and then counted the coin he was given, encouraging Gansey to try the other candies as well. The blue mints tasted like fresh ice that had been mixed with herbs, the green ones tasted like mint leaves that had been formed into little ellipses and the white ones tasted like the paste Gansey used to rub his teeth with in the morning, surprising him.

 

His face expressed his surprise and the blond man chuckled, shaking his head and leaning closer to Gansey, dropping a few coppers into his hand. The scent of roses flooded Gansey’s nose and he snapped out of his daze, eyeing the man. As impossible as it seemed, it was almost as if the man himself smelled of roses.

 

“Anything else I can help you with, your highness?” The man asked, a pleasant smile still on his face and Gansey pulled away, shaking his head. It was impossible for someone to smell like roses unless there were flowers around; perhaps the man simply had a garden at home or had spritzed himself with rosewater before leaving home. It was not unusual for women to do so; why would it be unheard of if men did the same.

 

A man coughed from Gansey’s side and then walked behind the market stall, wrapping an arm around the blond man. Gansey did not first take notice of the man, but when the man spoke with voice that could have been laced with venom, Gansey paid more attention to the man’s appearance.

 

The man was shorter than the blond man and it was as if they were opposites in every way. When the blond man was smiling, tall and freckled from the sun, the other man had black hair, barely reached the other’s shoulders and he was as pale as the sick who came to pray for quarter from the royals. His eyes were as cold as his scowl and he narrowed his eyes, glaring at the golden crown that complimented Gansey’s golden hair.

 

“If you are not here for business, I suggest you leave.” He spat, arm tightening around the blond man, who smiled even wider. “You royals love wasting the time of those who have to work hard for their coin!”

 

Gansey took his purchases and apologised for having insulted the man. He turned around and left, but he did not walk fast enough to miss the first part of the conversation the men dropped into.

 

“He might have bought the mints if you had not shooed him away!” The blond man said, sounding upset.

 

The other man’s voice did not imply he cared at all.

 

“The royalty belongs to the castle where their place is. There’s no good in them mingling with the lower folk such as you and me. Stop pouting. You’re not attracting customers if you look like there has been death in the family.”

 

Gansey hurried along, not wishing to hear how the argument closed.

 

* * *

 

 

Besides the Castle, the church was the biggest and most expensive stone building in the town. It had towers and spikes, frescos on the walls, mosaic glasses for windows, little pieces of glass showing the scenes from the Book of God. If the Castle felt cold to the observers, the church’s doors were always open and during lunch the smell of freshly baked bread and vegetable soup greeted the visitors.

 

Gansey had never truly seen the appeal of putting his trust and faith in someone who didn’t give him direct orders, but Ronan was a different person and believed that God stood by him, supporting his decisions and bringing misfortune when he had acted wrong.

 

Ronan’s younger brother Matthew greeted them with a smile and a friendly wave. Ronan rushed to his brother, ignoring the other clerics, giving his younger brother a tight hug. At times like these, Gansey could see how much the two of them really differed from the other: Ronan was closed off and distant to those he did not know while Matthew smiled to everyone, his golden curls making him look more like a cherub than a cleric. Ronan was harsh, not because his vocation demanded it, but because it was how he chose to be; Matthew was a ray of sunshine because it was how he had been born.

 

“It’s nice to see you too, Ronan,” Matthew laughed, smiling into his brother’s shoulder and then offered a brief hug to Gansey as well. “How have you been?”

 

Gansey nodded, bowing slightly, looking around and noticing an older man in fancy robes walk around. “Simply great, Matthew. If you’d excuse me, I think the priest is looking for me. I’ll let you and Ronan catch up.”

 

He left the brothers to share their thoughts on what had happened in the last week and followed the priest, squeezing into a confession booth after the priest had taken his place in the other side.

 

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. I have spoken to those who use magic. It’s what my duties require, but I still feel like the Lord punishes me for it.”

 

He was silent after that, pressing his hand to the cold wood of the booth. It calmed him a bit, but still a headache slowly started to form. Slowly, but surely, it pressed from inside of his brain to the front of his head, making it hard for him to concentrate on the priest’s words. Although he listened, not many words registered in his brain and after the Father had said his blessings, Gansey dropped a few coins into the donations box and left, muttering an apology.

 

Ronan noticed Gansey walk to him and arched a brow, knowing how Gansey’s headaches sometimes got the best of him.

 

“Are we leaving?” He asked, crossing his arms and Gansey sighed. “I am. You can spend time with your brother. I’m really sorry, Matthew.”

 

Matthew smiled, shaking his head, his curls bouncing on his face slightly. He hugged Ronan goodbye and then gently squeezed Gansey as well. Gansey had always disliked hugs and touches from those, whom he did not know well, but Matthew’s hugs were warm and the young cleric somehow managed to make Gansey feel better with his touches.

 

As Ronan and Gansey left, Ronan sighed, shaking his head.

 

“I’m half glad you’re not feeling well. Matthew wanted to discuss our older brother.” He led Gansey back to the carriage that was waiting for them at the edge of the town. Gansey did feel sorry for Ronan, but his head was hurting and he did not feel like he could concentrate on things. He simply let Ronan talk about whatever he wished and nodded, looking out of the window, hoping to soon rest in his rooms.

 

What he had not hoped; he realised as he finally entered his rooms; maybe had not dared to hope, was to see a gardener in his room, changing out the flowers. Gansey shut the door behind him and smiled to the man who was carefully arranging the roses in a huge vase that quietly stood on Gansey’s writing desk. The man bowed, but then continued his work.

 

“You like the pink roses the best, right, your highness?”

 

“I do, Noah, I do.” Gansey nodded, walking a bit closer, eyeing the huge blossoms the flowers carried. He reached out, touching a silky petal and then flinched slightly, as Noah booped his nose with a flower.

 

“Cheer up, your highness! You look like you just witnessed a ghost passing through the room!” He booped Gansey’s nose again and then pouted when Gansey didn’t laugh.

 

Noah’s face, his delicate features had never made Gansey upset, and they did not do so this time either. After giving a little sigh, Gansey smiled, but his smile was weak and as tired as he felt. His head was still hurting and all he wanted was to lay down on his silk sheets, pull the soft covers over his head and sleep until the maids woke him in the morning.

 

“Are you alright?” Noah asked again, putting the last flower into place and then inhaled the faint smell the roses emitted. He sounded worried, but not overly, knowing that the prince would sometimes want to be alone; still he took a step closer and patted Gansey’s shoulder. “I’m here for you if you need anything, alright?”

 

“Thank you, Noah. You did a wonderful job with the flowers. You may be dismissed,” Gansey said, leaning closer to the flowers, burying his face in them, inhaling the sweet smell that made him long for something he did not know how to name. The silky petals caressed his cheeks like nobody had before; the scent of roses calmed his headache more than herbs and medicines ever had.

 

When he looked up, Noah had left his room. Gansey sighed, then undressed and retired to bed. He had to hold court the next day, and knowing how tiring holding court was, he needed all the rest he could get.

 

* * *

 

_Dear diary,_

_The prince did not even notice how I picked the pinkest flowers for him. I worry that something is wrong, that something has happened. Maybe his mother has been cruel and distant again, perhaps his sister said something mocking. I worry for him as he is my friend. I hope he is alright._

_Anyway, the flowers I brought for him were really beautiful._

_Yours,_

_Noah Czerny._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the next chapter we learn more about Ronan Lynch's daily life, his woes and his dreams. We also learn that someone - or many someones - have a sinister plan to make the prince fall.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [Vicvandal on Tumblr](http://vicvandal.tumblr.com)


End file.
